Pretty Noose
by Fire Lord Azula
Summary: A dark twist on the normally joyous tradition of receiving a betrothal necklace.  What used to represent the maker's undying love and devotion now stands for ownership and eternal bondage.  [ Azutara, oneshot. ]


**Disclaimer:** I make no claim on the characters of _Avatar: The Last Airbender_. They belong solely to their creators, and I garner no profit from their usage.

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Up until the fourth week of containment, the late-night visitations had been growing mundane.

They were repetitious, with little-to-no deviation on the part of the captor.

As the rusted door tested its hinges, the shackled Waterbender would raise her head at the sudden onslaught of light upon unadjusted eyes. Booted feet made their approach at their owner's leisure; more often than not beholden to a torturously slow pace, giving the dark-skinned girl ample time to dwell on the "what if...?"'s of her dire predicament.

Fortunately – as fortuitous as the situation granted, anyhow – the heir to the Nation of Fire never lifted a hand to strike her, as was well-within her ability ( and sordid right ) to do so. She would simply play spectator to the labored breathing, wrists-turned-raw from unmoveable metal cuffs, and eyes of compassion hardened by the bitter tinge of impassioned hatred.

Occasionally, she would ask a question. And, more often than not, the inquiry would be centralized on the location of the Avatar. Predictably, for the girl's blinding loyalty came as no surprise, it would go unanswered. Coercion by way of threats – gruesome depictions of bodily injury – proved fruitless. You simply _couldn't_ loosen the Waterbender's tongue. She would give the peasant her due: such steely determination was truly a force to be reckoned with. Admired, even.

This seemingly endless repetition would come to an end one iconic day, when the pale-skinned girl would venture further into her exploitations, taking into her hands – quite literally – a subject of personal importance.

Draconic eyes came to rest on the blue-banded necklace reclining against her captive's throat. This uncharacteristic diversion of attention did not go unnoticed, and the dark-skinned girl thrashed against the chains that bound her... in vain, she knew, but the effect was not lost to her enemy. A lazy smirk etched its way across full lips. Her course was set, and no amount of struggling would deter her.

With an unbridled look of curiosity, the Fire Princess grasped the sentimental trinket for closer inspection. Having neglected to slip the band free from its place around Katara's neck, the thoughtlessly rough motion succeeded in jerking the girl's head forward.

"What is this to you?" Taloned fingers traced along the grooves constituting the wavy design on the pendant's face.

Shocking blue eyes narrowed in defiance, their owner stone-faced and noiseless.

"Could it be that you're _ashamed_ to tell me? I find it odd for you to keep your silence if it meant so much to you." A smug, calculating expression, all-too-familiar to the captive, graced the younger girl's features. "I'm giving you a chance to brag about your 'beautiful' necklace. The only possession of yours that might hold value."

In a sudden lapse of mental strength spurred by the recollection of the necklace's history, the Waterbender inclined her gaze downward. "...It was my mother's. She gave it to me..." and here, her head lifted to glare pointedly into her enemy's impassive eyes; "...before _your people _killed her."

"Mm," came Azula's acknowledgment, more to herself than her captive, her voice unsurprisingly devoid of compassion. "But does it have a purpose? Does the design mean anything?"

Katara snapped her head to the side to avoid further eye-contact. "It's a betrothal necklace." Her fists reflexively clenched, jolts of pain shooting down the length of each arm to serve as a reminder that the blood had drained due to such unforgiving bonds. The other girl observed the paling of tanned skin with morbid satisfaction.

"I see. So, your culture is hopelessly sentimental. ...It's no wonder, then, that the South Pole has been all but wiped completely off the map."

Oh, she had to bite her tongue to restrain the heated response that threatened to burn its way past her lips. How _dare_ this barbaric Firebender speak so condescendingly; so lowly of her people! _They_ never harnessed the power of a destructive comet to commit mass-genocide! Katara would take "hopeless sentimentality" over mass-killings and the ruthless misuse of bending _any_ day.

Her words failing to elicit the response she had desired, Azula calmly pivoted on her booted heel and departed the cell, shrouding the claustrophobic room in darkness once more upon the closure of the creaky steel door.

Although it was impossible to tell time in what was essentially total darkness – and such ridiculous idealism never crossed her mind – Katara was certain that her hated adversary hadn't "visited" her in days. Perhaps even a week.

Not that she was complaining; far from it. Tranquility, though welcomed, oftentimes led to wandering of the mind. So, over the course of the undetermined amount of days, she found herself pondering the cause of Azula's absence.

She also meditated. Though that in of itself was an arduous task, made nigh-impossible by chained wrists and ankles; forced to stand the duration of her time in the darkened cell with no respite for her aching back. She had to make due with the mere closing of her eyes.

During one of these makeshift sessions, the unmistakable clang of a rather rusty door springing open assaulted her ears. Daring to open weary eyes, she was "greeted" quite boldly by the sight of her long-lost enemy.

In a clawed hand rested an object of questionable origin... upon first glance, anyway. It was lengthy; apparently fashioned from fine silk in the form of a ribbon. As the Fire Princess drew nearer, the guestimate was confirmed: it was, indeed, a ribbon of sorts.

A striking _red_ ribbon.

Katara squinted, both from the sudden influx of light and the relative ambiguity of the object now being dangled before her. A ribbon... why would Azula show off _a ribbon_? What could be so special...?

Closer; closer came the Princess of Fire, 'til she stood all but three feet before her captive. There was something definitively circular attached to the center. And it turned out to be no ordinary ribbon.

This was, in most respects, a carbon-copy of her betrothal necklace, the Waterbender realized with a strangled gasp.

The pendant itself appeared to be forged from the purest cut of platinum: an otherwise precious metal that was easy to come by for Fire Nation royalty. Held at an angle that took full advantage of the scant light-source, it glinted with a pride rivaling that of its crafter. Intricate detail-work, no doubt carved by a steady hand and with the use of superheated flame, graced the face in the form of a raging inferno. Two jagged branches of lightning streaked across what was to be the "sky" of the image.

So... _that's_ what Azula had been up to these past several days.

The Firebender's right hand ( for the left held fast to the necklace ) lifted from her side, the claws of her index and middle fingers hinging beneath the blue band affixed to Katara's neck. In a fluid flick of her wrist, the cloth was severed from its resting place and left to clatter to the floor – a broken memento of the past that she had every intention of replacing with _her fabricated future_.

If the Waterbender's hands hadn't been bound by such unforgiving metal, they would have instinctively flown up to her now-naked neck, grasping futilely for the remnants of her dearly departed mother. Instead, she was left to glare with newly awakened hatred at the culprit.

Azula, naturally, went unfazed. So calm was she, that, despite the vicious twitching her prior actions invoked, the new necklace was stealthily attached to the older girl's neck.

"I'm not wearing this!"

One eyebrow upturned at the declaration. "A little late for that. You're _already_ wearing it." That smug little weasel.

"Give me back MY MOTHER'S necklace! NOW!"

"It would no longer stay on your neck."

"..._Rrrr. Take this dirty thing off._"

"Why should I do _that_...?"

Katara calmed enough to snort indignantly, her breath amounting to little more than ragged intakes. "I'll NEVER... EVER... be Fire Nation! ...I never want to wear something of YOURS! Fire Nation filth!"

Clasping her hands behind her back in militaristic fashion, the dark-haired girl watched with unmasked amusement as her senior spouted off yet more declarations of hatred, wearing herself into exhaustion.

"You're _still_ a Water Tribe peasant. But we can work on that," Azula smartly pointed out.

She was met with no response – only the usual daggers-for-eyes – so she elaborated further.

"When I become Fire Lord, you'll be my Fire Lady."

"How dare you even _suggest_ that! I would rather DIE!"

"You _will_ be my Fire Lady," came the insistent retort, repeated without missing a beat, the tone of which – in addition to those soulless eyes – left no room for argument.

Up to that point, the Princess's voice had been colored by what appeared to be sardonic pleasure – pleasure at seeing a detested rival taken out of her comfort-zone, chained and confined in the darkest cell the Fire Nation had to offer, and verbally teased nearly every day of her miserable existence. But, at the _personal_ challenge to her authority, any and all glee was wiped away in a heartbeat.

It was then Katara realized... that, if she'd really wanted to, Azula could seriously hurt her. _Kill_ her, defenseless as she was in captivity.

The change in tone would be taken as a warning, and rightly so.

Her words left to linger in the tepid air, a veiled threat of sorts, the Firebender took her leave.

Katara's eyes stared unseeingly, unfocused, at what remained of her mother's necklace... the last link to her past. In doing so, she also did her best – however in vain – to ignore the odd coolness of the new band around her neck... the stairway to her _future_.


End file.
